Strange Times Indeed.
In a city smothered by hypocrisy and a death toll
The thin try to eat and the overweight become thin
Strange times indeed.
The slender arms of a child
Become weightless as she sleeps on her mother’s belly
This is unity in the most heartbreaking fashion
This is a mother crying as her baby begins to flinch
Nightmares burst into the mind.
Shredding the world into pieces
Might be the best way to eradicate the desolation
Burning it into scraps of charcoal as the animals scream
No one deserves this depravity, these aren’t degenerate people,
Shadows or rigid silhouettes, they’re breathing the same smoke as you,
Their hearts beat for a comforting smile and graceful hand from someone,
Not carrying burdens.
One dies, two cough and sputter,
Fear attacks the senses
Heaps of energy sapped from breaking bodies
The city’s teeth discolored by nicotine and its abdomen
Hungry for economy and a rebuild.
Disease roams like cattle,
Flowers decide to die, their vibrancy,
A figment of the imagination,
Color trapped in grey, houses crumbling,
Woodworm eating through the work of a carpenter,
Who gave his all too building beauty when beauty gleamed in
The eyes of strong people.
A Bell Rings In My Head.
A bell rings in my head
A realization that dreams are for the hungry
The driven, the artists, the readers,
And the weaver of words.
Emotions are high
I wish my name was in the sky
A banner of authority and truth
People would see it and cheer
For my disenchanted self.
The pavements laced in chewing gum
Offer me a route to the dark underworld
Where emotions are high
And people die of unnatural causes
They’re bound to each-other
Like they’re strapped to a leash
Dogs of winter, dogs of war.
The snowflakes are colossal reminders,
Of an incoming force
Winter beckons and these unruly children,
Become like wolves, scavengers.
Covered in a blanket of snow
A bell rings in my head
A realization that dreams are for the noble.
Broken glass reflects bloodied faces
Prayers are needed here
Hope trips the lights and is now engulfed in darkness
Dreamers disregard their chances of swapping this life for days in paradise.
Angels talk up this place, this land which has conformity,
They have sprinkled white magic all over books of truth
Books that explain to us why violence is fundamental
To staying alive in a world inconclusive.
There are people lost in disposition
Their love songs only play out in shoddy bars
Those angels come and go
Switching on the lights may let them in
At a blink of an eye, they’ll truthfully tell you if,
This is the end.
She’s next to you, flapping her hands,
You’re in her line of sight
Dropping glasses of dispirit all over the wooden floor
Speaking to the walls, wishing they’d tell that you’re allowed to,
Mystified by your response to these paper-thin walls
She drags you aside, peppering you with optimistic monologues,
Of why you should live peacefully, aborting all poisons and,
All these memories which you conceal under the dome in your head.
The theater of wingless drunks
Is on its last order
You quickly consume with all your repose,
The last drink of the night.
Tear Drops On Cheeks As Pale As A Winter’s Day.
She’s stretching out for her mother
But her mother is caught up, tangled in a drunken daze,
Profoundly stuck in a loop of mundanity.
Oh God, she wishes, to stick to her mother again,
Wrapped up in the umbilical cord
A warming embrace when she’s born again
But we can’t be born again, we can’t relive the tender moments,
We grow up and try to make sense of the world.
She feels suffocated when her mother seems free
Singing karaoke in a local bar
Drinking spirits when her daughter is out of spirit
Drinking hops and barley, when a starving girl is,
Wasting away, barely hanging onto the teddy bear her late father,
‘Honey this is yours, hug it when you feel uninspired and when your mother is
Disconnected from you and the world’
The home is colder than a day in the snow
The electric blanket doesn’t heat the bones
The young girl splashes water on the face of her hungover mother
There’s no response, no anger or repent.
Flicking the switches in the kitchen
There’s no electricity surging through
Just a feeling of tension at the pit of a hungry stomach
A swollen cloud of black rain hovering over her
She wishes to tower over all of this
Create sparks and wishes, but magic isn’t,
The tap leaks dirty water,
The milk is sour in the fridge
The emptiness is gathering space
And hopelessness seems to darken the room
She’s powerless and her mother is shadow of her former self.
A ticking watch is all she has
Temptation to walk away is a potent feeling
In a young mind, pushed to grow up,
But she loves the woman sleeping away the haze.
Screaming for solace
Inside a cage we call home
The lucky and free
Walk the streets with their heads held high
And their wallets bursting from the seams.
The room is a reminder of hazy nights
Grasping onto the t shirt of a lover
Who quickly departed with the aromas of sex?
Swirling around the stench of the ashtray.
The thick smoke of cigarettes
Shrouds beautiful faces
They’re there writing down tales
While out of mind.
Looking at drunken eyes
Which flicker a hundred times
There’s no answers from the mouth of this,
Rebel who wishes for a better life.
And we sit amongst the disenchanted
In a small compartment in an apartment block
Someone is singing hopeful lyrics
From a song as sickening as a restless heartbeat.
This night is longer than most
The clock has stopped
People urge me to sleep
I can’t count sheep.
The Flicker Of Lighters.
Freedom seems miles off
As the rumbling of thunder in my mind
I walk the streets
Trying to curve the strain of mixed emotions
Homeless women come to me
Asking for miracles when I need a miracle
They’re hungry, and desperate,
I have nothing to offer but memories
Of a bashful crash into a state of disrepair.
They leave me to walk
They rummage for thoughts
Taking drags of cigarette ends
And the dregs of a bottom of a bottle
Why should they stray into darkened voids?
And alleyways, undesirable territories,
Where masked strangers steal innocence,
And everything they’ve ever fought for.
I observe mass gatherings of people in despair
Drawn to the flicker of lighters
They’re certain to meet the end
No bright lights to guide them homeward.